


Best and Worst Decisions Made On A Friday Night

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Face Sitting, Loss of Virginity, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Stiles Stilinski Has a Big Dick, Stiles is an unexpected sex god, Tantric Sex, Unexpected but not unwelcomed fisting, Verbal Consent, Virgin Stiles, Where to start?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re eighteen, they’re seniors, they’re alive. These were all things once-upon-a-time in danger, so Lydia took it upon herself to throw a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best and Worst Decisions Made On A Friday Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissusMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissusMonster/gifts).



> There is some mild warnings at the very end, if you want that kind of spoiler. (If it's a spoiler, it's in the tags idk)

Best and Worst Decisions

  
  


It starts with Stiles licking something. Lydia’s not really sure what it is, her mind is a little fuzzy on the details, but his tongue is pink, and...and dexterous and Lydia just can’t look away.  They’re eighteen, they’re seniors, they’re alive. These were all things once-upon-a-time in danger, so Lydia took it upon herself to throw a party.

 

So, Stiles is licking something and Lydia is curious. She drags him away, hooks her little hand into the crook of his elbow and hauls him up the stairs to her room, where she locks the door behind her. They’re both a little drunk, Stiles more than she, and that’s good. That’s great. Lydia likes to have the upper hand.

 

She pushes him down on the bed, mind still wrapped around how Stiles wraps his tongue around everything. “Woah,” Stiles says, eyes going wide as she crawls over him. “Lyd---Lydia.” His voice squeaks at the end, and it makes her feel just a little bit feral.

 

Smoothly, she slides her hand up his thigh, ignoring the cargo pockets because really, they have no place in her bed. “Yes, Stiles?” She purrs, voice heavy with gin and tonic.

 

“I...We...What----” She lets herself palm the front of his pants, where he’s chubbing up nicely beneath her touch. “Lydia. Ohmygodwhat.” He blinks, chest rising and falling as she plucks at his buttons. “You’re...You’re drunk and I don’t want to--- oh holy shit who knew nipples were so awesome oh my god - take advantage of youohoh.”

 

“Are you saying you want me to stop, Stiles?” She asks, licking his belly button. He squirms, soft stomach jumping beneath her touch.  

 

“Um...well, that would be ah...ah... a resounding no, but I just don’t think----”

 

She pulls up from where she’s biting the curve near his belly button and frowns. “You’re drunk too; do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

 

“N...no?” He squeaks, hands flailing like he’s not sure where to put them. “Decidedly not.”

 

“Shows what you know, because I am,” Lydia tells him, hiking her dress up her around thighs.  His hands fall straight to her legs like he can’t help it, and Lydia smiles. “You and your mouth, Stiles. Your tongue. I need to know---”

 

“Know what?”  Stiles manages to say, before Lydia is working her way forward, legs bracketing his face. “You’re uh...oh my god.”  His hands have abandoned her thighs, resting on her ass now, and clenching. It’s down right adorable. “You’re uh...um. Not wearing anything under your dress.”

 

“No, I’m not.” She leans down to kiss him, to get lost in the curl of his tongue of only for a moment. It gives her ideas. Fantastic ideas.  “I’m going to sit on your face now.”

 

“Oh God,” Stiles groans, eyes clenching shut.  She wonders for a moment if he’ll come in his pants just from getting her off. “Will you still respect me in the morning,” he manages to say, with the levity she’s come to admire him for.

 

Lydia smirks, running her fingers through his hair and gripping. “That depends entirely on tonight.”

 

She does as she promised; she sits on his face.

 

***

 

It’s obvious that while he is unpracticed, he is not unschooled. Lydia can’t be sure whether it’s extensive hours of porn, or other means, but the boy understands where his mouth is needed. He gets his wicked tongue on her clit as if she’s drawn him a map - more than she can say for certain other people she’s been with, and his clever fingers make their way to her entrance, tentative, but knowing.

 

 

He starts with one, which is cute but Lydia’s not a virgin, and she wants more, She squirms impatiently, grinding down on his tongue, but the boy gets it, slipping in a second and then a blessed, blessed third. His fingers are long, and he curls them, curls them just so and---

 

“Oh,” the sparkling burst of pleasure surprises the grunt from Lydias mouth - it’s not attractive, not sexy in the least but it’s genuine and that...well, Lydia will not be ashamed of that. “Oh, fuck. Stiles---Stiles.”

 

He laughs against her cunt, flicking his tongue against her clit in harder, before pushing in another finger. She wouldn’t normally---- she’s doesn’t usually--- But fuck, it feels good, four of his long, spindly fingers deep inside her, curling, pushing, pulling.

 

She’s gripping the headboard before she realizes she’s fucking down on his face, grinding shamelessly, but it feels too good to stop, and Lydia doesn’t care. She’ll take her pleasure how she likes, thank you very much.

 

When she comes, it’s with an echoing cry. She can’t stop, and Stiles doesn’t either, just finger-fucks her through every thigh-quaking tremble. She can’t stop herself from fucking down on his fingers, on his wicked, clever, never-ceasing tongue. It’s been an easy twenty-minutes, and he hasn’t complained, hasn’t paused. She comes all over him, knees growing weak, and he doesn’t stop.

 

No, what Stiles does is push her back, hand never leaving her. He splays her out on the bed, head hanging off the edge, and gets his face right back between her thighs. Pulling his fingers away, he buries his mouth into her, licking her out, licking her clean, nose brushing over her too-sensitive clit and holy-shit, he licks down her crack, chasing her flavor, tongue sliding over her ass hole and jesus christ, Stiles is just as shameless as she pictured.

 

“You can come again, right?”

 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, slips his fingers back inside her and Lydia almost can’t take it. Her thighs clench around his head, fingers gripping her blankets, his hair, anything she can get a grip on. He does something with his tongue, some slow slide up, down, and then sucks on her clit as he twists his fingers inside her, thumb pressing boldly against her asshole and she doesn’t come, but she gushes, moaning loudly. “Oh oh oh.”

 

She is, for the first time, beyond words.

 

Stiles is not. “Oh jesus. Oh Christ. I bet you could, if you let me. I...I’m gonna---” He doesn’t tell her what he’s going to do, but as she is so close to coming again, Lydia doesn’t care.

 

His thumb leaves its place against her ass, brushing through her wet cunt instead and Lydia feels a spike of worry, of wait-wait, and then Stiles has his thumb up her too, fucking her fast and hard and she’s coming with a wail as he fucking fists her. She squirts, she can feel it, soaks his face, his chin, his neck and she can’t stop.

 

Her back arches up off the bed, and Stiles is there, hooking an arm up under her ass, holding her up as he eats her out and she gushes, gushes, gushes, squealing, broken sounds escaping her without any kind of permission.

 

She is not stupid. She knows what a g-spot orgasm is. She has even, on a few memorable occasions, given herself a few. But this, this is the first assisted g-spot orgasm and it is...it is what sex should be. Sex should always feel this good.

 

He eases her down onto the bed,  and rocks back on his knees. His mouth is glossy, sticky-wet and violently red. “Wow Lydia,” he breathes, staring down at her limb-loose debauched form. “I---”

 

“You should fuck me.” She hadn’t intended for things to go that far when she pulled him up here. Still, she’s never felt this good after oral and she wants so bad to see what the boy will do once he gets his cock inside her. Shances are, she knows, he’ll blow his load in ten to twelve seconds like the virgin he is, but---- she doesn’t mind. She’s never came that hard, and she’s feeling fucking generous.

 

Stiles nods dumbly, swallowing hard. “Uh...Condom?” She loves that he doesn’t ask if she’s sure, likes that he trusts her.

 

“Fuck it,” she says, feeling bold and maye stupid. “I’m on birth control, and you’re a virgin.” She doesn’t normally appreciate the mess no-condom leaves behind, but considering the state of her cunt, the bed, and his face...there’s no avoiding a mess.

 

“Oh God,” Stiles breathes, hands clenching at his side. “I uh...can we turn the lights off?”

 

She smirks at that, eyes falling to his pants. She can’t tell if they’re simply too loose, or Stiles is unfortunately small. “It’s okay if your small,” she says, matter-o-factly. “Your foreplay game is more than enough to make up for any other inadequacies.” It is. It really, really is.

 

He flushes even deeper, blotching spots blooming on his chest. “Lydia,” he hisses, pulling up to sit on his knees between her legs. “I’m not... I’m not small, I’m well proportioned, thank you---- “

 

It’s a small-mans argument, but Lydia is done stalling, she unzips his pants and yanks them down his skinny hips, boxers too. She’s too schooled to expect any disappointment, if Stiles is small, that’s fine---

 

“Holy shit.”

 

She says it. Not him. Holy shit.

 

A flash of fear bolts through her, - this is going to hurt - but then she remembers Stiles just worked his whole fucking hand into her, and good for him, knowing to prep because Stiles is not small.

 

“I thought the extra large condom was a joke.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles flushes. “My dads joke. This is uh...a genetic thing apparently. Lets not think about that. Do you still want to---”

 

“Yes,” Lydia says in a rush, with none of her usual elegance. “Yes,” she says again, forcing the word to run slow, and smooth. It’s hard to be coy though, after an orgasm like she’s had. “I’m wet enough, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Stiles groans, falling forward. He doesn’t crush her, braces himself on his arms, narrow hips tucked tight between her sloppy, sticky thighs. “Um...do I just...”

 

“For the love of God the next words out of your mouth better not be any variation of ‘stick it in’,” Lydia warns, hooking a leg over his thigh, to guide him forward. “Just....Just fuck me.”

  
  


He does.

 

 

The first push is tentative, and Lydia is grateful. It isn’t that she feels like she’s being fucked with a goddamn garden zuchini, but...she does. Her nails dig into his back, as he hitches up her other thigh onto his hip, pushing forward with more force.

 

The sounds they make, sticky, squelching thighs smacking together....it’s almost enough to make Lydia blush. Instead, she smacks his ass and tells him, “ go faster.”

 

He does.

 

He doesn’t come in two pumps, like she expected. He doesn’t come when she cries out, when she kisses him, deep and dirty. He doesn’t come when she fucking clenches down on his dick, comes all over his balls and pulls his hair so hard it  hurts his hand. She doesn’t come for any of her little tricks. He just fucks her right through them.

 

“Jesus Christ,” she sobs, eyes clenched, mascara smeared. She’s spiralling towards another orgasm. “You’re not one of those guys who can only come from porn, right?”

 

Stiles laughs. “God, I hope not,” he says, falling back onto his knees. He pulls her ass into his lap, though her head is still hanging off the back, and fucks her at a new, and fun angle. She comes immediately, legs flailing in his grip. She comes so much, she can barely stand it.

 

“Stiles,” she gasps, when he pulls out, and urges her to roll over, on her knees.  He pushes in with no warning, proceeds to fuck her as if they never paused. God - Jackson could barely stand to switch a position monthly, let alone twice in one fuck. Lydia gets an idea. “Stiles, did you google Tantric Sex?”

 

“No.” His hips skip a beat for the first time, but he keeps on thrusting. “Maybe. Yes.” He pulls her up, presses her back against his chest, get his hands on her tits, bold now, his mouth on her neck. “Yes, wiki spiral, research, spent hours---”

 

“You can do this for hours?” She says, orgasm-stupid. Her arms give out, sending her face first into a pillow and him deeper inside of her.

 

`“Yes?” Stiles reaches a hand around her, and presses hard and low on her belly.  It makes her whole fucking cunt clench around him, it feels so good - god. She’s never gotten so wet, but she’s never had anyone so deep inside her either. Her thighs are sticky, her beds a mess, and she can’t stop coming. “I can...I can stop....if you want,” he pants out, between thrusts. “Can you come again?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lydia cries, honestly cries because she feels so fucking good but she can barely breath, and her stomach is clenching, her thighs are shaking and feels like she’s already coming, she feels like she never stopped. She feels out of control, and weirdly embarrassed because of it, but she doesn’t want him to stop, but she can’t, she can’t--- “I---I---”

 

“Shhh,” Stiles whispers, mouth pressed against her ear. His hips slow, no longer thrusting, no longer pounding, and it makes her head spin, how they rock together, sweaty bodies plastered together. She can feel every orgasm she’s had on every inch of her skin, she can feel herself coming even though she isn’t. She can feel it everywhere. “Shhh, I’m sorry, it’s okay, I’ll stop----”

 

“No,” she gasps, as she clutches at the pillows. “Don’t, don’t stop. Just like this. Can you like this?” She hopes he understands what she means, she hopes he won’t stop the deep, slow push inside her, because it’s perfect, and she needs it, she can feel another spiral of heat curling up inside her and she wants to fucking come again, she needs it---

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles tells her, pressing down on her belly again. He spreads her thighs wider, and it tilts her ass up farther. He touches her everywhere, sticky fingers sliding through sweat, sweeping up over her rips, her breasts, her collar bones. She should have known he’d be good at this, with hands like his and a mind like is, everywhere all at once ,he’s fucking her, touching her, kissing her, and driving her crazy because that’s what Stiles Stilinski does; he mutlitasks.

 

An unwelcomed curl of self-doubt hits her hard, as he grips her thighs a little harder. “Is it...is it good for you?” She asks, and feels stupid. Doubt, she doesn’t do, but she hasn’t done anything else tonight with him either. This is the best and most laziest sex she’s ever had.

 

“Are you---” Stiles reels, pushing up into her hard enough to snap a gasp from her lips. “Are you kidding? You’re---this is better than I ever even dreamed, and I mean come on, we both know I’ve been dreaming about this for years.”

 

It makes her blush. “I’m sorry,” she says, and wishes she didn’t, because there’s no room for that here, between their sweaty skin. She doesn’t want it here, those cruel years of hers.

 

Stiles laughs, not a mean laugh, but a gentle puff against her throat. “Don’t be,” he tells her, hand drifting down her belly, between her legs. “Can you come again?”

 

She’s not sure, but she doesn’t tell him that. Just holds tight, and rolls her hips. It earns her a gasp, and she wants more. His dick pulls at her cunt, drags across her in the best ways. “Stiles, please, I can’t---.”

 

“One more,” he whispers, grinning against her skin smugly. Lydia would be irritated, but he’s earned the right. WIth an arm hooked around her belly,he falls back to sit on his calves, hauling her with him. Gravity brings her down on his dick hard enough to make her cry on a moan. “One more, please?. I know you can, you’re Lydia Martin. You can do anything, right? One more? I’ll come too, I promise.”

 

“Yes,” Lydia bites out because she wants him to come, she wants it in the stupidist ways. She wants to be the the first. She never thought she’d think it, but she wants to be the first to make Stiles Stilinski come. “Just...just fuck me like you want to come, okay? Just come.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m going to... Can you touch yourself? Please? ” Stiles says, before hooking his hands under her thighs and lifting her up with little more warning. He drops her down on his dick, fucks her down on him with more strength than she’d expect from him. It’s...God, she can’t get wetter, but it’s hot. Stiles isn’t anything like she thought he’d be. He’s...fucking glorious. “Touch yourself,” he reminds her before using her like a goddamn fucktoy.

 

She does.

 

She’s almost to wet to get any real traction, but her clit is so sensitive, it doesn’t take much.  He fucks her deeper, harder, faster, bouncing her on his cock.

 

Without warning, without pausing, he pushes her forward again, ass up, head down. “Oh fuck,” he grits out between his teeth. “Lydia, Lydia, Lydia----”

 

She gets her hand back between her thighs, rubs her cunt fast and hard and comes as he cries her name. He comes, and comes and comes. She can’t tell whats her, and whats his, but her thighs get wetter as his hips stutter and give. She’s not even holding herself up anymore, he is, hands hooked under her hips, and his orgasm, jesus christ, it lasts as long as hers.

 

They collapse in a sweaty heap of limbs, gasping and nearly crying and Lydia is fairly certain that her decision to let Stiles go down on her is both her best and worst.  Sex will never be as good.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Stiles does not explain what he's doing before he's putting all his goddamn fingers up Lyds, but she's into it. Still- that's not how it should be done.


End file.
